


A Book By Its Cover

by vidocqsociety



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 05:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vidocqsociety/pseuds/vidocqsociety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony begins to see that Steve is a little more complex than he originally thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Book By Its Cover

"Oh, son of a _bitch_!" Steve yells as the punching bag begins to leak sand. He didn't think he was hitting it that hard--though obviously he was. It was hard to remember to rein it in, really, because it was so easy to lose himself in the steady rhythm of his workout. That's why he liked it.

Except for times like these, when he accidentally breaks something.

"Stupid piece of shit." Though even he's not quite sure if that's directed at the bag or himself. He always thinks he's got a handle on his life, and something will, inevitably, prove otherwise. It was like the punching bag was a physical manifestation of that.

('Physical manifestation'? He has _got_ to stop watching so many advice shows.)

It's a constant battle with him, trying to reconcile his life. Most days, he's fine. He's fantastic, actually. He has a purpose--a bizarre one, to be sure, but great, in every sense of the word. He is, for all intents and purposes, a _superhero_.

Not that he feels very super most of the time. He's always going to see himself as the scrawny kid from Brooklyn he used to be. It's hard to feel like Captain America when some asthmatic pipsqueak is staring you down as you brush your teeth.

But maybe that's a good thing. It makes it easy to remember his promise to Erskine: to remain a good man.

He tries. He does. It's a constant mantra, never too far from the front of his mind. It's just hard seeing that kid every morning and remembering _everything_. The victories as well as the defeats.

And there were a lot of defeats.

Out of frustration, he punches the bag again--not hard, just a pop. It swings there, a steady stream of sand falling to the floor its only response. Steve sighs, and goes to find a broom.

He turns to find Tony standing in the doorway, gym bag in hand. "I was not aware you could do that."

"What?" Steve looks back at the rapidly-deflating bag. "Oh. Right. Um, yeah. I try to... _not_ , y'know, but... sorry, by the way." He rubs at the back of his head, embarrassed. "You'd think after 70 years, I'd learn my own strength."

"No-no, not the bag--I could give a shit about the bag." Tony grins in delight. "You swore."

"What?"

"You." Tony points at him. " _Swore_."

"Oh. Um, sorry?"

"Don't be." Tony finally enters the gym, tossing his bag next to the boxing ring. "I kind of thought you were genetically engineered to be incapable of that."

Steve ruffles at that. "I was in the army."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Come on, Tony. You worked with the military. You know how they can be."

"They were always on their best behavior with me."

"At least someone was."

"I am _always_ on my best behavior."

"That's a scary thought."

Tony puts a hand to his chest, palm over the arc reactor. "You wound me, Captain. Deeply."

"I'm not perfect, you know. I never was."

"You do give off that vibe," Tony says. "All-American hero--you know, that jazz."

"I'm just--"

"Doing your duty?" Tony grins as Steve's mouth sets in a firm line of annoyance. "Right. Kind of helping _my_ point right now, not yours."

"Being a nice person and having bad language are not exclusive things. A person can do both--look at you."

Tony falters at the compliment. "I'm not a nice person."

"Tony, you built us apartments in your tower. Not to mention a jet. And you bought me a lifetime pass to every museum in New York. Cat's out of the bag: you're a nice guy."

Tony scrambles to find something to throw focus. "Clint got you that magazine subscription."

"To AARP."

"Oh." Tony shifts awkwardly. "I'm pretty sure you could've gotten in for free without a pass--that whole Captain America thing you've got going for you--which you should utilize more often, really, American hero and all, think of the girls--"

" _Tony_."

"Right. I just..." He waves the rest of that thought away. "I thought it'd be easier. The museum pass. It's no big deal. I forgot about until you brought it up, actually."

Steve smiles and scrubs a hand through his hair. "You really have a thing about people pointing out your good points."

Tony folds his arms, looking at anything that wasn't Steve. He settles on the corner of the free weights bench. "I have a thing about not making it a thing. It's just..." His arms come up, palms towards Steve. It's an unmistakably defensive gesture. "Whatever. Drop it." He turns to go, but Steve caught his wrist.

"Hey, wait."

Tony stares down at his wrist--where Steve is _holding_ his wrist. Something warm and pleasant begins to unfurl in his chest, around the arc reactor, and spreads outward. He forces his gaze to Steve's face.

Steve misinterprets Tony's stare. "Sorry." He lets go. Tony instantly mourns the loss. "Just... trying to make sure you don't go anywhere."

Tony swallows. The warmth turns to heat, shooting up his neck and into his cheeks. "Where am I gonna go? It's my tower. My name's on it and everything."

"You tend to barricade your workshop when something you don't want to deal with comes your way. I think Clint called it a 'bitchfit'."

Tony snorts. "He's one to talk."

Steve continues. "It makes it difficult to have a conversation with you, because as soon as something unpleasant comes up, you bolt."

"I have precious little free time, if you haven't noticed. I'd rather not spend it discussing unpleasantries."

"Every time you come out of the workshop, it's with something for one of us: Clint got that new bow; Natasha, those upgraded stingers; not to mention the Quinjet." That was a particularly long avoidance spell, after Clint had gone missing because Tony hadn't checked in with him like he was supposed to--even though he was kind of busy, you know, _saving New York_. Nine hours later, Clint came home with a fractured arm, a broken bow, and a list of the mutants trying to restart the Brotherhood.

"You have, though. Twice."

"My point is, you think giving us stuff will solve everyone's problems."

Ah, yes. The Tony Stark problem-solving method: throw money at it until it goes away. Of course Steve noticed. "Forgive me for doing nice things for my teammates."

"There's nothing to forgive. I just..." Steve exhales heavily. "I just wish that you didn't feel like you have to buy our friendship."

Didn't he? He did with everyone else. Because Tony Stark is good at a lot of things. He prides himself in that fact. But this? The whole relationship thing--and he means any relationship, friendship or... otherwise--has always been something he, quite frankly, sucked at. Because no one ever really wanted a relationship with _him_. He was either a stepping stone to his father, a stepping stone to the company, or a stepping stone to 15 minutes of fame. He was a means to an end. He learned quickly enough that if he threw money at people, they kept him around.

Except for Pepper. And Rhodey. But they were exceptions. Tony never thought he'd find another one of those.

Of course, he never thought they'd ever find Captain America, and yet he was standing right in front of him.

And he was being another exception.

Funny how things work out like that.

So Tony says something he almost never says. "I'm sorry."

Steve stands there a moment, processing. Or perhaps waiting for a qualifier, a joke that cheapens it and makes it less-than. None comes. So he nods in reply. "It's fine. Just--"

"It's not, though." Tony surprises himself. "Not if you think it's a problem."

Steve tries very hard to keep a neutral expression. "I feel like I--that the team is a problem. For you."

"No." Tony is. Tony _always_ is. He takes what he hopes is a steadying breath. "People leaving is the problem."

"Oh." Steve nods, understanding. "Well, I'm not going anywhere. None of us are."

"Good to know."

"I hope you'll remember it in the future."

And then they stand there, not really sure where to go next.

"Sorry," Tony says, unable to stop himself. Silence makes his stupid. "Again."

"It's fine now." Steve offers him a smile.

"I didn't realize I was so... _me_. When it came to friendship."

"You make it hard," Steve agrees.

"Do I?" Tony brightens at the opening. He raises an eyebrow at Steve, who rolls his eyes. "I do like making it hard for people."

"Really, Tony? Dick jokes? After all that... that's what you're going with?"

"Absolutely I am!" There is no other word for what Tony does next: he _giggles_. "And I actually got Captain America to say 'dick jokes'." He looks positively gleeful.

"And maybe one day, you'll even get me to tell one."

"You know some?"

"A couple."

"Go ahead." Tony made a sweeping motion with his hand. "Dazzle me."

"What part of the body increases ten times in size when stimulated?"

Tony's eyebrow rises suggestively. "Why, _Captain_ \--"

"The pupil, but I like the way you think."

"That sounds like an invitation."

The corner of Steve's mouth quirks upward in amusement--and something else. Something _flirty_. Tony's mouth suddenly become very dry. Steve pick up his gym bag and slings it over his shoulder. "See you later, Tony." He leaves Tony alone in the gym.

And suddenly, Tony thinks dick jokes are very, _very_ unfunny.

**Author's Note:**

> I rated it T because of the end. I didn't really know, so I erred on the side of caution (which I figured was better than my original plan of 'flip a coin and see what happens'). I suck at rating things. Clearly.


End file.
